“Steak,” Marshmallow told her, smacking his lips. “And boy, do I know how to cook it!”
“Your mother must have been giving you lessons,” Doris smiled.
“Say, don’t you think I ever went camping? I can cook a lot of things.” He opened a hamper and began to lift out various covered dishes. “Just look at all this stuff Ma sent.”
While the steak was sizzling over the red hot fire, the girls spread the table cloth and unwrapped the various packages. They were appalled at the outlay of food. “Enough for an army!” Doris groaned. Always an excellent cook, Mrs. Mallow had quite outdone herself on this occasion. Salads crisp and inviting in nests of lettuce, pie, gigantic cream puffs with Marshmallow’s favorite chocolate filling, baked beans, deviled eggs and lemonade were but a suggestion of all the good things with which the cloth was loaded.
“We’ll never be able to eat all of this,” Doris declared in dismay.
“Sure we will,” Marshmallow grinned. “Just give me a chance.”
The others were forced to admit that he did do remarkably well, for long after they had finished eating he continued to blissfully gorge sandwiches, cake and cream puffs with an apparently unappeased appetite. At last, however, the plump lad was forced to acknowledge his Waterloo.
“I’m afraid I can’t finish it,” he said regretfully. “What a shame to lug so much back with us.”
“Maybe you’ll feel up to it after you’ve rested a bit,” Dave suggested.
“That’s an idea!”